


Westley from the Gym

by violetnovice (orphan_account)



Category: The 100, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, I Don't Know Where This Is Going, but it's pretty cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/violetnovice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random one shot written on a whim</p>
            </blockquote>





	Westley from the Gym

Clarke threw her backpack on the floor and collapsed heavily onto the bench, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs. Now she regrets betting Octavia and Raven that she was the most fit out of the three. It had been... Intense. 

"I don't think I'll be able to move for the next century." She moaned. Raven made a sigh of agreement and sat down gingerly on the floor, tilting her head back to use Clarke's lap as a pillow. Octavia hummed noncommittally and leaned against the row of lockers. 

"Bell texted me." Octavia says, typing out a reply. "He's here to pick us up."

Opening an eye, Clarke decided her backpack was too far away to reach by hand and she really wanted water.

"O, can you get me my backpack? I really need water right now."

"Can't you fetch your own backpack, Griff? It's literally three steps from here." Octavia complained.

"Maybe," Clarke said tiredly. "But I'm sitting down, and I don't want to. Meanwhile, you're standing up, and besides that, you're barely sweating. So you have to do what I say, farm girl."

"As you wish." A quiet voice murmured. Clarke sat up so fast Raven's head went flying off her lap and crashed onto the bench.

"Who the fuck said that?" She demanded, looking around.

There was a small shuffling sound, then the hottest girl Clarke'd ever seen stepped out from behind the row of lockers. 

"That would be me." She said coolly. 

That was the moment Clarke knew she was fucked.

For one, the girl was gorgeous. The intense forest green eyes, framed by an ungodly amount of eyeliner that somehow hadn't smudged. The wild brown hair, pulled back into a French braid, little wisps curling free to frame her face. The soft, perfect, definitely kissable lips.

Secondly. She had the body of a goddess. Clarke didn't think anyone could make a sweaty black tank top and basketball shorts look sexy, but the girl was wiping away the sweat on her face with a towel and the movement caused the tank top to ride up, exposing chiseled abs. The tribal tattoo on her bicep rippled slightly with the movement. (Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees Octavia reach down to push Raven's jaw closed. Clarke shared the sentiment.)

"The Princess Bride?" Clarke manages to say after a long moment. The girl smiles faintly, suddenly looking away, as if embarrassed.

"Yes." She says in the same calm, even tone. (Clarke swooned. Internally.) She holds out a protein shake bottle. "I have a spare drink, if you would like." Clarke accepts it, slowly, gingerly. Their warm hands brush. She feels like she's in a dreamlike trance. All she can focus on is the girl, who's slightly flushed with embarrassment and looks away.

The girl lifts her gaze and they make eye contact.

Clarke thinks she could drown in the girl's eyes, the light jade green, the bright green specks standing out near the centre. The girl stares back, a dazed expression on her face.

They seem to stand there for an eternity.

Then Raven whistles, long and loud, and the spell is broken. Clarke turns around slowly, and Raven waggles her eyebrows. Suddenly, Clarke knows what's coming.

"Raven, don't-" Too late. Raven has already sauntered forwards, pulling out a marker from seemingly nowhere. Smirking, she takes the girl's arm and writes a phone number on it. Clarke's phone number. The girl looks down, confused.

"Since I'm the best wingwoman ever, but our ride's here, that's Griff's number." She tells the girl. "She really needs to get laid, by the way. It's been months and she's starting to become the mom friend, so..." Clarke's face flushes bright red and she open her mouth to apologize, but then Octavia's phone buzzes again so Octavia is dragging her off with an iron grip.

Clarke barely has time to stammer an apology before she's out the door.

Later, her phone buzzes. Clarke looks up from Grey's Anatomy, playing on her laptop, lazily takes her phone from the end of her bed, and proceeds to choke on thin air.

**Unknown Number: Hello. It's Westley. From the gym, if you still remember.  
Unknown Number: That was a bad introduction. My name is actually Lexa. **

Clarke can't control the broad grin spreading over her features.

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty short, but personally, I like this one. What do you think?


End file.
